


Christened

by aimeejessica



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Smut, straight up smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimeejessica/pseuds/aimeejessica
Summary: Based off an idea I had after watching S6 E8 where Shelagh talks about Christening the new house by having the baby at home.Well, she's pregnant, but not as heavily pregnant. And instead of Christening the house by having the baby there, Patrick and she have different ideas.Definite M rating
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner & Patrick Turner, Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 54
Kudos: 45





	1. Master Bedroom

That _damned_ bassoon was doing his head in.

The first time he had heard his son attempting to play it had been at the surgery while he waited for his parents to finish work for the day. He and Shelagh had been hidden behind the door to his office, in each other’s arms, laughing at the poor boy. Patrick remembered how his wife had scolded him but they had both continued to laugh at their son’s failed attempts at playing the hefty woodwind.

Now, as he attempted to lather wallpaper paste on the printed paper, he felt a headache encroach on his left temple; the mixture of fumes from the paste and the racquet from upstairs tearing through him like a hot poker. Placing the brush down, he absentmindedly rubbed at the area. He thought perhaps he should take an aspirin to help, but he knew as the night grew older, his son would tire and get himself to bed.

“I’m sure you could have asked Fred to come and do this for us,” Shelagh had crept up on him, successfully getting Angela to bed and Timothy to pipe down.

Patrick looked at his wife, sending her a weak smile before continuing the task at hand. “No, no. It’ll help me get match-fit for the day baby arrives; besides, I like this new fashion for doing things yourself. It feels as though we are Christening the house,” he let out a breathy chuckle, dunking the brush into the pot of paste.

Shelagh pauses for a brief moment, straightening herself as she hears the words. _Christening the house._ A spark flashes behind her eyes and a sly grin pulls at the corner of her mouth. “I think the best way of Christening the house would be -” she starts, watching him stop painting the wallpaper laid in front of him.

A fleeting nervousness overtakes her so she gulps it down, retaining the feeling she had only a moment ago. “-to make love in every room of the house.”

Patrick looks at her, incredulous at her suggestion. He tries to counter, “What if,”

She ignores him. She was still early in her pregnancy, barely showing even, but her body’s increase in hormone production had overwhelmed her usual, placid manner. Both being medical professionals, they understood the changes a woman’s body went through during pregnancy, but both had been caught of guard by how it had affected her.

Never breaking eye contact with her husband, she joined him at the bench he worked on and plucked the brush from his hand, discarding it with the bristles on the upturned paste lid. “I think there’s enough paste on that sheet,” she mentioned coyly, pressing a lingering kiss to his shadowed jaw. “I’m heading to bed,”

Patrick almost choked as his wife departed, her light footfalls on the wooden stairs being the only indication that she had left.

He couldn’t focus as he attempted to hang the sheet of patterned paper on the wall, a fire being stoked low in his belly as he replayed exactly what had happened. He shook his head, disbelieving the memory. To _hell_ with the wallpaper, he had though, he could always head to the store in the morning to purchase more. Tearing the now sticky paper off the wall, he crumpled it and dropped it on the old cloth he had laid out as floor protection, firmly reattached the lid to the can and raided his supplied for some turpentine to soak the brush.

* * *

Within ten minutes Patrick was upstairs, wanting to see more to this Shelagh, pushing his way quietly, but desperately, through their bedroom door and ensuring it clicked shut behind him.

What he saw when he entered had his jaw hit the ground. She was seated on her side of the bed, covers tucked to only her hips; her hair had been released and combed through, her glasses discarded on the bedside and _that_ nightdress. The same light-blue and white, sheer, bri-nylon nightdress she had surprised him with in South Africa.

He shamelessly allowed his eyes to rake over his wife’s form, the fire stoked in his belly now stoked to maximum capacity. Her gaze on him being the only signal he needed to join her in their bed.

“Hello,” he greeted as he pulled the suspenders he wore, off his shoulders, allowing them to hang loose off his pants; quite the opposite of the strain he felt in his trousers.

He sat himself on his side of the bed, kicking off the loafers he wore, mirroring the position she currently sat in.

“Hello,” she replied, her eyes catching his. Although a little blurry, she could make out the dilation in his pupils, fuelling her own desire that was throbbing between her legs.

She kicked off the blankets, wanting to expose more of herself to him. She enjoyed watching him watch her as her smooth, milky legs came into his view. It empowered her to know she had him in a trance; she normally would not act like this, but her pregnancy had dissolved her inhibitions and she was relishing the feeling.

“Has something caught your eye, dear?” she teased, curling into his side, fingering the buttons of the grey-blue shirt her wore.

One of his hands came to rest on her forearm, his index finger tracing up and down the length, watching as gooseflesh covered her skin. He hummed his response to her, watching as she toyed with the same button.

Air grew thick between them at an alarming rate, his erection becoming uncomfortable in his trousers. He wanted to take her right there, but she seemed to have other plans and she withdrew from his body momentarily, settling herself on her knees.

“Scootch over,” she breathed in his ear, helping him move in between their designated sides of the bed.

“You look gorgeous,” he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear to expose the flushed skin of her neck. Giving him a quick smile in response, she took it upon herself to straddle his lap, enjoying the low growl he elicited as the heat of her core ran over the strain in his slacks.

Returning her attention to the unattended buttons on his shirt, she finally began the tedious task of unbuttoning them one by one. His eyes watched as her slender fingers expertly opened the offending garment before she had it open and pushed it off his shoulders, exposing his firm chest.

“Shelagh,” he warned, his desire built to breaking point. Leaning his head forward, he captured the skin of her neck in his mouth, placing hot, wet kisses on the exposed flesh; this elicited a guttural moan from his wife, who tilted her head at such an angle to give him more of herself.

His hands roamed over her clothed body, and he frowned. He would make quick work of the nightdress she wore, tugging the hem at her thighs upwards to take the garment off. As he moved the fabric up her body, he realised she wore _nothing_ underneath.

“Shelagh Turner,” his voice pretending to be scolding. “You do not seem to be wearing a thing,”

As he pulled the garment further up to slide over her shoulders, her arm became stuck. Her voice deep with desire, and her accent thicker than normal, growled at him. “I am still wearing this,” she was awkwardly manoeuvring her stuck arm free, removing the offending item herself.

He chuckled, quickly stopping when he realised the laugher was causing teasing friction between them. He took a moment to eye her bare body, running his hands up her sides and over her swollen breasts. _Another side effect of pregnancy._

She placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and used her free hand to hook a finger under his chin, drawing him in for a kiss. It started off tender and loving before spiralling into something messier; open mouths allowed for his tongue to lick across her own, savouring the taste that was hers. She replied with biting his lower lip, holding the swelling flesh between her teeth and drawing back before soothing the bit with her tongue swiping over the flesh,

He groaned and his hips instinctively bucked up at the woman sat astride him. She grinned against his mouth, as their passion raced through them like a drug. He took a second to pull back from her, slowing down so he could place a tender kiss on her lips as he pushed her back to lay along the length of his legs.

The angle had her knees hurting so with a quick adjustment, her head was now at the foot of the bed, and Patrick now nestled between her thighs, exposing every inch of her to him. He noticed the small swell of her stomach, and he leant over to place a kiss above her navel. There was something about her being pregnant that seemed to make her even more irresistible; he had, had the same feeling toward Marianne when she carried Timothy.

Quickly pushing those thoughts aside, he noticed how her hair was a mess now, but neither was bothered by it. It was times like these that he loved the imperfect, perfection of the woman under him.

Making quick work of the button on his trousers, he stood from the bed to slip those and his undergarments straight off and into a pool on the floor underfoot. Taking his position between his wife’s legs he sighed at the freedom his length had.

Lowering himself to have his body flush with hers, he captured her lips in a searing kiss and he entered her in one fluid motion, her hips bucking into him as they joined.

“Oh- “she broke the kiss, moaning out to whoever heard, to be quickly muffled by her husband’s lips again.

One of his hands found its way between their bodies, wanting to give her the pleasure he was receiving from her. He was gentle, lubricating his fingers with their shared fluid, he gently began to massage small circles across her most sensitive area. The feeling was heightened for her as his thrusts changed the pressure he applied.

Her arms held him against her and as she began the journey to her peak, she started to dig her nails into the soft flesh of his back. At this, he picked up tempo, moving them both slightly so he could reach deeper inside of her.

“Patrick – “

He groaned in response; his mouth currently occupied with leaving a small mark on her clavicle that both of them hoped would be able to hid under her, generally, modest attire. It didn’t really matter in the end as he too felt his own wife begin sucking at his neck to leave a matching mark.

With each satisfied with the marks of their love-making on each other, Patrick slowed his pace right down, allowing her orgasm to quietly creep through her before crashing over her like a wave in a storm. His eyes were fixed on hers as she came to his touch, and her vocals rang in his ears.

With her pelvic muscles still contracting as she came down from her high, it drove him to bury himself deep in her as the involuntary spasms unhinged his own release, pulsating everything he had inside of her until he was spent and soft.

He collapsed on top of her, mindful of the state she was in. But she made no complaints to his weight, instead, she carded her fingers through his hair as he caught his breath resting on her chest. She placed a light kiss on his forehead as silent gratitude.

“It’s at times like these, I wish he was playing that damned instrument,” he laughed tiredly, placing several kisses to the swell of her breast.

She breathed out a laugh that sounded more like a hum at her husband’s words, before a smile crossed her face in a quick realisation. “One room Christened, seven more to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha. Forgive me. I am very, very gay and I haven't written hetero smut in YEARS.  
> I hope I've done it a little justice. Or a lot. Y'all can decide.  
> As evident by the summary, the chapter count and the ending, there will be more to come.
> 
> I 100% DON'T reread smut I've written...ever. At all. So any errors, I apologise for.


	2. Living Room

Patrick had been called out in the middle of dinner one evening. One of the Nonnatun’s had the husband of the expectant mother telling him it was urgent and so he had apologised to his children, placed a kiss on the top of his wife’s head and raced out the door in two minutes flat.

He hadn’t arrived home until the early hours of the morning, wanting to ensure mother and baby had made it to the maternity home safely and were doing well before leaving them in the capable hands of the midwife. He had slipped back in quietly, hoping that the jangling of the keys against the door wasn’t loud enough to have woken his family.

He had dropped his bag on the floor next to the rack where he now deposited his coat. He smiled wearily as he noticed Shelagh had left a lamp on in the living room, slightly illuminating the room. She always did that when he was called out late, and as he walked over to the lamp to switch it off before joining her in bed, he caught sight of her asleep on the settee.

He hadn’t expected her to wait for him, knowing full well she still had work of her own to attend to in the morning. He let his gaze travel across her sleeping form, hair loose and slightly mussed from her slumber, glasses perched on the arm of the settee, the throw from their bed covering her lower half and that familiar, old white and blue striped pyjama top of his.

Crouching in front of her, he gently ran his hand over her hair and placed a light kiss on her forehead. He was torn from wanting to wake her and take her upstairs where she could resume her sleep in his arms, and wanting to leave her resting, her light snores alluding to the fact she was in a deep slumber.

He went with the former, caressing her face and running his thumb over her cheek. He would much rather deal with a sleepy Shelagh who would be more content in bed, than a grumpy Shelagh who had been left to spend the night on the settee.

“Shelagh, my love,” he whispered, continuing to stoke her cheek. “Let’s get you to bed,”

She stirred ever so slightly, but still didn’t wake. He pressed a harder kiss to his wife’s forehead, hoping that a little more pressure would rouse her. “Shelagh,”

A light groan escaped from deep within her throat and she wearily opened her eyes, blinking them several times until the blurriness of sleep was gone, and only the blurriness of poor eyesight remained.

“Patrick?” she questioned, fumbling behind her head for her glasses.

“Yes, my love,” he replied, reaching for her glasses and handing them to her. He loved her, especially when she was still half asleep.

“Mmm,” she moaned, stretching her arms enough, allowing Patrick to realise she hadn’t fastened all the buttons. His eyes quickly looked down at the exposed skin of her chest, before looking back to his wife. “What time is it?” she asked.

He glanced quickly at the clock that ticked away on the wall. “A little after three,”

This seemed to have woken her sufficiently, as she slowly brought herself to a seated position, bringing her legs around to nestle between his own. She allowed her head to fall forward, to press hard against his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Perinatal asphyxia,” he stated plainly. “Brought on by cord prolapse. Fortunately, Nurse Gilbert made the husband phone for me at first sign of prolapse,”

“Mother and baby are well?”

“Quite,” he nodded, smiling at his wife.

She smiled back at him, admiring the way his hair was no longer smoothed back with bryl-creem, and flopped ridiculously over his face, the darkness under his eyes becoming more pronounced with each passing moment and the shadow covering his cheeks and jaw line.

She ran her hand along the stubbled face, allowing the hairs to scratch over the inside of her palm. “I love that you care,” she told him. “You’re always putting others first, even if it means staying out until dawn breaks on the next day,”

He let out a breathy laugh, leaning into his wife’s caress. “You do it too,”

“Not since we brought Angela home, I haven’t,” she pulled his face towards her own, greeting his lips with her own. A tender kiss was all that needed to be exchanged, neither wanting to deepen it.

“Why did you stay up for me?” he asked, genuinely curious as to why Shelagh wasn’t curled up in bed.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I wanted to,” she stated simply, allowing his lips to brush across hers again.

“I see you found your favourite nightdress,” he grinned at her, plucking at the lapel of the pyjama shirt she wore. “It also happens to be my favourite,”

“Would you like me to return it?” Teasingly, she started unbuttoning the item, only stopping when she reached the growing swell of her belly.

“I meant my favourite on you, darling,” he grinned at her, kissing her forehead. “But I do enjoy where your thought process went,”

Playfully slapping her husband’s chest, she went to button the garment back up, only to be stopped by his larger hand on hers. Moving her hand away, he instead continued to unbutton the shirt, and push away the throw that was still around her waist.

“Patrick,” she warned, her voice thickening with the slightest hint of arousal.

He ignored her, opening the pyjama shirt to expose her belly, taking care to keep her chest covered – barely. Instead of the crouched position he had, had, he was now completely on his knees, opening Shelagh’s legs wide for him to nestle between.

What was initially going to be the harmless act of kissing the belly in which their child grew, now became something more intimate. He was exhausted, but a new found wave of energy, he assumed adrenaline and arousal, coursed through him, spurring him on.

He ran his hands up the length of his wife’s legs. Starting at her ankles, travelling over her calves, making sure to apply a massaging pressure, before coming over her knees and heading up the inside of her thighs, stopping just shy of where she would now like him to touch her.

He extended his leg, bringing him back to her eye height. Her pupils dilated, and her soft, pinked lips slightly parted; he noticed the slight flush to her cheeks that travelled down her neck and splayed across her chest.

“Shelagh,” her hands were on him, unbuttoning his waistcoat, followed by the Oxford he wore underneath. “Let’s take this to our room, we can’t have Timo-“ he was stopped as she pulled his face down to hers, kissing him passionately.

Breaking the kiss only a moment later. “It’s 3o’clock in the morning, Patrick,” she smiled at him, running her hand over his now exposed chest. She was always so confident, and he wondered whether she was still half asleep.

The twitching inside his pants gave way to any reason he should continue to have, and instead of pushing her to take it to a more private setting, he tenderly pressed his lips to hers, signalling to her that he wanted to take things slow. She reciprocated the tender kiss, gently allowing their lips to move in synchronisation. Every now and again, the slip of the tongue, or the gentle nip of the lip with teeth.

He allowed his hands to caress over her body, starting with running his hand down her flushed neck, his fingers tracing over the pulse point before continuing their journey across her shoulders, pushing away the pyjama shirt in the process.

Her own hands mirrored his movements, only allowing her fingers to push deeply into the trapezius muscle, massaging the undoubtedly painful area. She knew she had hit the spot when she heard him moan and felt his body relax into her.

“Better?”

“Much,” he replied as she continued working at his aching muscles. “But shouldn’t it be me giving you the massage?”

She shook her head.

He stopped working with his hands, choosing now to kiss down her neck, occasionally allowing his tongue to sneak a taste of her. He trailed down over her collarbone, stopping at the swell of her breast. One hand gently cupping one, he kissed around the darkened, erect nub before sucking it into his mouth, eliciting a breathy moan.

Her hand tangled its way into his hair, holding him against her as she allowed herself to enjoy the pleasure he was giving her. She only released her grip on him as he moved to the other side, giving as much attention to her body as he could.

As he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, she instinctively jerked her hips up towards him. This sent shivers down the pair of them, and they each realised that in that moment, they needed more. He made quick work of his slacks and briefs, allowing them to pool on the floor at the bend in his knees. He groaned in relief as his erection was freed from entrapment, and as he pulled on the underwear of his wife, she eagerly lifted her hips to aid him in stripping her down to nothing.

Taking position between her legs, his arousal pressed against her core, causing her to release the softest moan. He kept his eyes on his wife’s face, watching eyes close and her head fall back as he slowly pushed himself inside of her.

“O-oh, Patrick,” He made a quick move to cover her lips with his own as she adjusted to him, muffling the next moan she let out.

He himself let out a groan as he withdrew from her slowly, before pushing back in, her slickness amplifying the pleasure between them.

He didn’t want to rush things, wanting to take it slowly, to feel the deepest parts of her while simultaneously being able to explore her body with his hands. One rested on her waist, the swell of her stomach driving him, and the other caressed her face as he kept their lips together, moving in perfect unison.

As his hands were both occupied, the long, slow strokes he pleasured them with, needed to be amplified. Feeling shameless, she moved one hand between their joined bodies, using her fingers to feel the sensitive flesh at the apex of her thighs.

She kept her movements in sync with his, slowly allowing herself to succumb to the building pressure within. She momentarily opened her eyes as he pulled out before sliding back in to her and she realised he had been watching her the entire time.

Eyes locked, building the arousal between them, she felt herself reach her peak, her muscles clamping down hard on him, contracting sporadically and urging on his own release.

He stopped his movements, allowing her contractions to draw out his own pleasure, spilling himself inside of her before capturing her lips with his own.

As they each came down from their euphoria, her eyes fell heavy with a wave of exhaustion that matched his own.

She pointed to the arm chair next to the settee, and as his gaze followed her outstretched arm. On the arm chair lay the bottoms to his pyjamas.

Removing himself from between her legs, he got up, his knees cracking with is age, and retrieved the item, slipping them on and up over his hips. She patted the spot next to her on the settee, shrugging on the discarded pyjama top.

“You want to sleep here?” he arched an eyebrow at her.

“It’s big enough that your feet won’t be hanging over like your last,” she giggled. “But yes. Hold me?”

And so he slipped himself against the back of the settee, allowing his wife to curl into him as he pulled the throw over the pair. He didn’t really care what his children would think when they came across their sleeping parents in a few hours. All that mattered to him was he was with her, and she with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I couldn't bring myself to reread this, so I do apologise for any errors.
> 
> I really struggle to write this - especially when my flatmate comes home and attempts to read over my shoulder as I'm trying to write the juicy parts.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this. 
> 
> 2 rooms down ;)


	3. Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warm night leaves Shelagh unable to sleep. She heads to the kitchen to indulge herself in a little treat.

The night air was thick and warm, causing Shelagh to lie on her back, wide awake as her husband lightly snored next to her. She was envious that he could sleep through the uncomfortable mugginess, silently cursing him as he radiated his own warmth, adding to her hot frustrations.

Sleeping in a thin, silk slip, she rolled to her side, attempting to seek out a cool patch in the bedding. She was momentarily successful, her feet hitting a spot that hadn’t been warmed by human contact, and her face coming to lay on the very edge of her pillow. She sighed at the brief release before her own body temperature quickly sent an uncomfortable heat into the bedding.

She groaned, shedding the thin sheet that she and her husband shared, and hitched up her slip to rest at the very top of her thighs.

Shelagh, in the darkness of the night, allowed her eyes to gaze over the unfocused form of Patrick. He was laying on his stomach, head facing away from her; with both his arms under his pillow , she wanted to reach out and trace the lines of his uncovered back. She refrained from doing so, instead letting her eyes wander down to his hips where the sheet covered his lower half. 

She turned once more, facing away from her husband. She had become frustrated with the constant tossing and turning, and decided that she would get up instead; perhaps she could find a remedy to the warmth in the icebox in the kitchen.

Carefully slipping herself out of bed so as to not disturb the sleeping man next to her, she gathered her glasses from the bedside table and crept out of the bedroom, not bothering to cover her under-dressed form.

The short walk across the hallway and down the stairs was a relief in itself, finding that as her body moved through the air, enough was displaced to not linger on her skin, keeping her cool.

Illuminating the kitchen at the flick of a switch, she cracked a window open when she fully entered the room, hoping there would be a little draught to wash over her; instead, she became disappointed to find the night air was completely still.

She turned her attention to the refrigerator unit, opening the top compartment to look in the icebox.

The frozen air spilt out as the door opened, refreshing her as it swirled around before quickly being swallowed by the warm night. Her eyes scanned the compartment, settling on a tub of ice cream tucked at the back; hidden from the prying eyes of her children.

She smiled. There was a brief kicking movement in her belly, and she placed her hand over the area she had felt it. “Yes,” she whispered. “We are going to get something to cool Mummy down.” She comforted herself with the idea that her unborn child could sense her frustrations and no doubt, felt not too dissimilar to her in regards to the warmth.

Retrieving the tub, satisfied, she closed the door to the icebox and made her way across the kitchen to where she could find herself a spoon. Taking a quick peak at the clock on the wall, its constant ticking the only indication it was there, she concluded that it was late enough that everybody should be in a deep sleep and she should remain undiscovered.

Settling the spoon and ice cream on the counter top, she lined her back along the sturdiness, placing her hands on either side of her and pushing herself up so she could sit. Propriety bed damned, she had told herself, relishing in the cold surface that her thighs now stuck to. 

She made quick work of the ice cream’s lid, discarding the item to her side, and grabbed her teaspoon, digging it into the frozen substance like she were still a child.

She knew she shouldn’t indulge herself in a sweet treat in the middle of the night, but the heat, paired with her pregnancy cravings, had been enough justification for her to raise her spoon to her lips, taking in a delightful mouthful.

Her body reacted to the cooling sensation immediately, a moan escaping her as she swallowed the first mouthful. She licked her lips, not wanting to allow them to become sticky if the remnants of the ice cream weren’t cleaned immediately.

She had only just slipped her fourth spoonful between her lips as the creaking of the stairs drew her attention; the silence of the night heightening her senses and allowing her to hear usually unheard sounds.

His face slowly came into view as he stepped into the light of the kitchen. 

“Shelagh?” he questioned groggily, quickly rubbing his eyes free of the sleep he had just woken from.

Shelagh was like a deer stuck in headlights, the spoon still in her mouth, her small fingers wrapped around the handle. Her petite frame sat on the counter, legs crossed at her ankles as they dangled.

Quickly removing the spoon from her mouth and gulping down the creamy substance, she gave him a smile, half crossed with a grimace. “I couldn’t sleep,” 

He slowly approached her, now fully awake, allowing his eyes to rake over her. He gave her a smirk, his bare stomach coming into contact with her knees. “You couldn’t dress, either,” he offered, taking the spoon from her grip and helping himself to a scoop of the frozen dessert. 

She cocked her eyebrow at her husband, quickly mirroring his own smirk. He too, was underdressed; he stood before her in only a pair of briefs. “You’re one to speak,” taking her free hand to run over his pectorals, the dark hair tickling her palm as she moved.

“It’s quite warm tonight,” he stated, digging back into the tub and raising the spoon for his wife. She accepted the offer, opening her mouth for him before sucking the ice cream off the spoon. He waited a moment, allowing her to swallow before placing his lips on hers, taking away the evidence of the mouthful.

She smiled against his mouth. Heat, cravings and now desire. Her pregnancy was playing with her hormones in a way she had never quite experienced before. “Delicious,” she told him at their lips parted.

“I hope you’re talking about me,” he gave her slightly parted lips a quick peck before pulling himself away from her. His thoughts were running like wildfire and he immediately felt a need to put away the ice cream before he became too carried away. 

She groaned in disappointment as their bodies no longer touched, their quick exchange had left a desire burning low in her stomach. 

With the ice cream returned to its spot in the very back of the icebox, and the spoon rinsed and left in the sink, Patrick had returned to his wife, placing his hands on her waist and using his hips to gently nudge her legs apart to bring them closer. 

Shelagh, with both hands now free, returned them to his chest, absentmindedly pulling at the hairs, allowing her eyes to follow their movement. She could feel Patrick staring at her.

Meeting his eyes with hers, she noticed his pupils had dilated, and there seemed to be a warmth in the darkness of them. “What?” she asked, feeling shy and self conscious.

He gave her a loving smile. “You’re beautiful,” he gave her forehead a quick peck. “I never thought I’d wake to see this,” gesturing at his wife’s current midnight activity.

“Don’t get used to it,” she jokingly warned him, running her hands down his chest and over his stomach.

He tensed, a familiar twitching occurring in his briefs. With his position between her legs, he was certain she felt the movement. She confirmed it by cocking her eyebrow at him again. “What?” He had made an attempt to sound innocent, but he saw through the facade.

She hummed as she pretended to think about his question for a moment. The moment of her shyness having dissipated, being suddenly replaced by the surge in hormones. “Oh, nothing,” she didn’t stop her hands on their downwards journey, hooking her fingers in the elastic of his waistband.

“You tease,” he accused, although the tone was light-hearted. His own hands now rested on her thighs, slowly bunching the silk of her slip higher until she helped him, unsticking herself momentarily from the counter top so her could push the material over her hips. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Her wink was all it took for Patrick to lose control completely. He knew he didn’t have a firm grasp on his control when he had stumbled upon his wife, her innocent indulgence in the middle of the night, but that paired with her teasing, her state of undress and the natural beauty of pregnancy, he gave into his desire completely.

With the fabric of her slip around her hips, he made quick work taking the item off completely, discarding it beside the pair on the counter. His hands settled on her waist, allowing his thumbs to skate over the curve of her pregnant belly. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered again.

Her hands cupped his face, pulling so she could kiss him tenderly. Accepting her kiss, he ran his hands around her, encircling her in a deep embrace, their bare bodies pushed together. She allowed a moan to escape as she savoured the feeling of her husband against her.

No further words were exchanged as he deepened their kiss, sucking her bottom lip in the hopes of her opening her mouth to receive him. She happily obliged, as when his lips returned to her, his tongue curled on the inside of her top lip eliciting another moan from her.

His knees weakened with each moan, and he pulled out if their embrace to be able to hold himself up with a firm hand next to her thigh. She didn’t complain as he pulled back, instead using it as an opportunity to trace her hand over his neck, her thumb brushing over his pulse point.

With Patrick now steady on his feet, he returned his hands to her waist, running them up and over her ribs before settling on each breast. As his hands gently massaged the flesh, swollen from pregnancy, he trailed kisses down her neck, stopping for a brief moment to suck the soft skin into his mouth. Her gasp out of shock quickly altered into a passionate groan and he quickly soothed the bruising flesh with a swipe of his tongue.

His head kept moving down, her hands quickly encouraging him by tangling her fingers in his dark, scruffy hair. She held his head firmly in place as he pushed a breast up, allowing his mouth to capture her hardened nipple. He was teasing, slowly tracing around the nub with his tongue before repeating the motion on the other side. 

She felt like she was being tortured as a hot, wetness continued to pool at the apex of her thighs. She couldn’t bare to part from him, so used her feet to slide up the back of his thighs, toes attempting to curl at the hem of his briefs.

His mouth, now placing bruising kisses down her sternum, felt the awkward struggle of his wife’s legs and removed the offending garment. His erection fully released from its entrapment, brushed against her inner thigh, eliciting moans from the pair of them.

Returning her hands to Patrick's face, she lead his head back up to hers, allowing their eyes to meet; everything that needed to be said, conveyed in their joined gaze. He helped her lift her backside off the bench, letting her remove her underwear from around her hips, before pulling away so she could discard the item completely.

He returned to her quickly, her legs opening to let him settle between. He pulled her forward a little, positioning her better for what would soon come. His stiffness brushed against her wet centre, causing her head to fall to his shoulder in pleasure. 

Wrapping her arms around him, and he around her, she braced for the inevitable. He needed no guidance from his hand to find her opening, sliding into her with slow ease. 

She moaned out in pleasure, leaving open mouthed kisses on his collarbone to help damped the sound. Drawing his hips back, he left only his tip inside of her, before thrusting slowly back in. He didn’t want to rush the intimacy they were connected in, taking his time to slowly make love to his wife.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locking behind him. It was her way of letting him know she wanted, and needed him completely; the thought of them parting, if even for a moment, seemed like the most horrible feeling in the world.

His thrusts gradually quickened as his pleasure heightened. Keeping one arm wrapped around his wife, her still whimpering into his shoulder, he brought the other to his face, dampening his fingers sloppily with his tongue before fitting it between their bodies. He made quick work finding the sensitive bud between her legs, easily sliding over the nerves with his lubricated fingers.

She bit into his shoulder as pleasure ricocheted throughout her entire body, his attempts to bring her to his level of closeness paying off. He slowed his thrusts, letting her inner walls clamp with each swipe over the bundle of sensitive nerves.

Each motion of his fingers, coupled with his slow strokes was enough for Shelagh to feel herself coming undone. Moving her head from his shoulder, she sought his lips with hers, crashing them together in needing desire. Her tongue danced with his, and as their breathing became erratic it made their kiss sloppy. Her nails raked across his back, leaving reddened marks along the length and he groaned as his pleasure peaked.

As he buried himself deep in her, he gave a last, gentle pass over the swollen bud between her legs; her legs tightened around his waist, her toes curling, her breath hitching and the movements of their lips coming to a standstill as her body released an unexplainable pleasure, extending throughout her limbs. 

With her orgasm came the erratic spasms of her muscles around his length, his movements stilled as he allowed her internal convulsions milk his own orgasm deep inside her.

With a final, tender kiss exchanged between swollen lips, he removed his hand from between them. A quick jolt shocking her as his fingers moved from the sensitive flesh. He wrapped her fully in his arms, allowing her breathing to even out as she rested against him.

“That didn’t help cool me down,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. This was soon followed by a yawn.

He chuckled softly. “But it has worn you out,” he offered.

“Indeed,” she confirmed.

Finally withdrawing his softness from inside her, he helped her off the counter and back into her slip. She would need the bathroom before taking her underwear back, and so together they turned out the light, making their way upstairs hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, like usual, I haven't brought myself to reread this before posting. So my apologies for any errors. (Surely someone beta my smut fics ahaha)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! 
> 
> 3 rooms down ;) tell me which room you'd like to see next.


	4. Timothy's Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick comes home in the wee hours of the morning after a late call out.  
> Shelagh has been kept awake by a kicking baby.

Shelagh had, had a restless sleep that evening, unable to settle herself as her baby had figured out how to kick her in the ribs. It was only her and Angela home tonight; Patrick had been called out late and Timothy was spending the night at a friend's house.

Pregnancy was taking a toll on her, having now been off work for two days with fatigue. She had insisted she was fine, but Patrick, not wanting to leave anything to chance, had instructed her to take a long weekend. If, after her break, she was feeling better, he was more than happy for her to return to work.

Rolling herself in bed, she switched on her bedside lamp and donned her glasses to catch a glimpse of the time; it was well after 3am.

Running a hand over her swelling stomach, she muttered to her unborn child, hoping for him, or her, to still long enough for her to let sleep reclaim her. Of course, that wish fell on deaf ears.

She decided, with her infertility diagnosis, that a moving baby was better than a still one. Shifting to a seated position, her back against the headboard, she slid her glasses off her face and on to her head, scrubbing a hand over her weary face before sliding them back to stop on the bridge of her nose.

"Alright, little one," she told her belly. "Mummy is going to get up for a drink,"

Sliding her legs off the bed, she let them dangle for a bit; her shorter limbs preventing her feet from being placed flat on the ground. Pushing herself off the bed, she tiredly walked across the room to throw on her robe before making her way into the hallway.

She hadn't noticed the light creeping out from Timothy's room as she descended the stairs as she sought a glass of water. It wasn't until she had made her way back up the stairs, did she notice the light on.

Walking past her and her husband's room, she made her way to the teenager's room to see why the light had been left on.

Pushing the ajar door fully open, she noticed a male form in Timothy's bed; the room being illuminated by his bedside lamp.

"Patrick?" She questioned, a little startled that he was occupying their son's room.

In his hands he held open a copy of the Lancet, studying the pages so thoroughly that he hadn't realised that Shelagh was now standing in the doorway. He jumped as she said his name.

"What on earth are you doing in here?"

He looked up at his wife, a small smile on his face as he took in her robed, pregnant form. He ignored the question. "Pregnancy looks good on you," he stated.

This caught her off guard, a light blush staining her cheeks. "Oh I, uh, thank you?"

"And to answer your question, I came home about an hour ago, but you looked exhausted in your sleep. I didn't want to wake you," 

She gave him a small smile. She appreciated the little things Patrick would do for her. 

She half expected him to return to his medical journal, so began to turn to depart the room. His voice halted her.

"You really are beautiful," his words were muttered, but she heard him clearly. 

He had been making more frequent comments about her beauty the further along the pregnancy she became. As tired as she was, it didn't stop a burn of desire trickle through her blood.

"We are blessed to be able to have this child," he continued. "I know it was one of your biggest wants - to become a mother to a child of your own flesh and blood."

Shelagh wanted to cry at his words, her hormones surging between upset at her previous diagnosis, and the desire she felt for her husband.

"While Angela might not be ours by blood, you've done a mighty fine job at being her mother. I don’t doubt your ability to be a great mother to our unborn child." Patrick discarded the Lancet on Timothy's bedside table. "That's what makes you beautiful, Shelagh."

She couldn't help the hormones coursing through her, running across the room and jumping up on the bed in one fluid motion. She was quick to straddle his hips, gripping his shirt collar in her hands and pulling him to her, assaulting his mouth with hers. 

He let out a muffled groan as he allowed his wife to take her desires out on him. His hands gripped her hips firmly, holding her to him as if his life depended on it. Her tongue was quick to part his lips, sliding it into his mouth to taste him; moaning as she did.

She pulled back quickly as she moaned, a blush staining her cheeks and running down her chest. "I'm sorry," she apologised through quick breaths. "I don't know what has got into me,"

Patrick didn't know why she was apologising, and his own lust got the better of him. "I will be soon," his voice was deeper than usual, his eyes never leaving her face.

If her face could have reddened more, it would have. Instead, her body took charge, causing her hips to grind down on her husband, eliciting synchronised groans from the pair.

Patrick motioned for Shelagh to move her legs so he could slid the offending bedsheets down, leaving only his pyjama pants, and her underwear between them.

He made quick work of the tie that held her robe closed, quickly cupping her breasts as the material fell away. She groaned, putting her hands atop her husband's to still his motions.

"Tender," she whispered.

"Sorry," he gave her a lame smile as an apology, removing his hands and resting them on her waist, his thumbs brushing the ever growing swell of her stomach.

Shelagh's eyes widened at a sudden realisation. "Patrick!" He looked worried at her tone. "He or she was kicking today!"

Patrick lost the worry he was feeling, his features softening and his eyes flicking between her face and her belly. "Really?"

She nodded in confirmation. "It's why I wasn't able to sleep. They've figured out where my ribs are," she rolled her eyes.

Patrick was in awe, remembering the first time Marriane had let him feel Timothy kick. "The kicking is wonderful! The lack of sleep, not so much,"

Shelagh was a whirlwind of emotion, grabbing Patrick's face and bringing her lips to his in a tender kiss. "I am so in love with you," 

He smiled against her lips, moving his hands to run up her back, loving the way she trembled under his touch. He brought his hands over the top of her shoulders, allowing them to fiddle with the buttons of her nightgown. 

"Don't bother," she whispered against his lips. "I want you."

He had only managed to unbutton the top three buttons, allowing a small section of her chest to become exposed to him. He attached his lips to the newly discovered skin, sucking hard enough to leave a small mark that he would admire later.

She pushed up on her knees, hitching her nightgown over her hips and making quick work of taking her undergarments off. As she sorted herself, Patrick was quick to lift his hips to slid his bottoms off, freeing his solid form underneath her.

She settled back on him, this time on his legs, allowing his length to rub across the wetness that coated her. 

"I thought you wanted me?" Patrick teased, as his hips unconsciously bucked, hoping to feel more than just his wife's folds.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought her face close to his ear, nipping at his lobe before whispering "But I hold all the cards,"

She was right and he growled. With her on top, straddled across his legs, there was nothing he could do to gain the upper hand. Or so she thought.

He was quick to put one hand on her lower back, and the other under her thigh, flipping her over as gently as he could.

He smirked at his new position atop her. "Who's laughing now?" He pressed a kiss to her nose as her face scrunched in annoyance.

He didn't allow her the satisfaction of a remark as he lined himself up with her entrance, and in one motion, thrust into her. She was wet, accepting his length and girth with ease.

"Oh," was all she managed to breathe out as he took her, her arms still wrapped tightly around his neck, holding him close to her.

He repeated his movements, pulling back slowly until just the tip remained inside her, before pushing back in. She groaned at the pleasure, but right now wasn't the time for rough and hard. Loosening her grip around his neck, she cupped his face with one hand, making him look into her eyes.

"Slower," she told him, pulling herself up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

He nodded, growling as he pulled himself out until only tip was in her again. Instead of thrusting in with force, he returned her kiss, sliding himself back in slowly until their pelvises met.

"Is this okay?" He managed to ask between heated kisses.

She hummed her reply as he continued with long, slow strokes. With the hand that had been cupping Patrick's face, she ran it down her body, allowing it to settle on the nerves between their joined bodies; moaning as her fingers circled around the swollen bud.

Patrick groaned as her own touch caused her internal walls to clench tighter to him. Each slow thrust of his hips becoming tighter to push through.

"Shelagh," he moaned through open mouthed kisses. 

She quickened the rhythm she played on herself, feeling her pleasure build. She assumed it was having an effect on her husband as his groans became louder with each stroke.

"You're going to be the death of me," he breathed out, dropping his head next to hers as his hips quickened the pace.

She couldn't hold herself back, not bothering to wait for him as her orgasm sent shock waves through her body. "Pat-rick," she moaned.

Her spasming muscles having Patrick’s own release coming not long after hers. As he came, he reattached his lips to hers, riding out his pleasure with her. 

The pair were breathless as they each came down from their high. Patrick didn't want to move, wanting to keep them joined as long as possible, but he didn't want to risk crushing her under his much larger form.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself from her, loving the quiet whimper she let out as he did so, and rolled to her side.

"Come to bed," she told him before clarifying. "Our bed."

"Too tired," he protested.

"Lazy," she countered. "Oh," she exclaimed suddenly. Wordlessly, she grabbed his hand, placing it high on one side of her belly.

He propped himself up on his elbow, cooking an eyebrow at her as if to ask.

"Yes," she confirmed as their hands, together, felt their unborn child kick at her.

"Probably didn't like us doing  _ mushy stuff _ ," Patrick laughed. "And in Tim's room,"

Shelagh groaned, a little embarrassed. "Don't remind me."

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to h4t08 for tagging me in a post on tumblr which inspired this scene! Also thank you for giving me some pregnancy pointers! Thank you 😘
> 
> https://h4t08.tumblr.com/post/633611499285479424/but-with-patrick-reading-the-lancet-and-shelagh
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this! 
> 
> Leave me a comment 😘 please?


	5. Angela's Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to h4t08 for beta-ing this chapter!

With only a couple of months left of her pregnancy, Shelagh had tasked Patrick to finish the renovations to Angela's room. So, he had decided set aside time during his weekend to complete the renovations, ensuring he had a locum to cover his on-call status and had organized their children to spend the weekend with Granny Parker.

While there was nothing wrong with the room itself, Shelagh felt that Angela was getting old enough to have a space that felt completely hers, especially as she wouldn't be the baby of the family for much longer.

The pair had mulled over their choices the week before; to paint the room or to strip old wallpaper and replace it with something new. Shelagh had wanted them to pick new wallpaper that would match the new paper he had plastered on the walls elsewhere in the house, whereas he was fed up with hanging paper and thought it would be much easier to paint.

Shelagh had won out, telling him that wallpaper was the way it was going to be and “that was that.” On early Saturday morning, despite his displeasement with the wallpaper decision, he followed behind her as she looked through wallpaper samples, showing him one garish looking pattern after another. 

To him, there was no difference between the many she had shown him; they all had the same orange and yellow colour pallet that was all the rage at the moment. The willowy patterns hardly varied; too many florals and stripes made his head ache.

What was worse, is that despite their time alone, which is a rarity within their busy lives, he would have rather spent his time chasing Angela away from the tools or arguing with Timothy on just about any subject. It’s not that he didn't like to spend time with his children, he would rather have spent more time with his wife at home. 

"Patrick," he had made a weak attempt at hiding his eye roll. His wife would be asking him for his opinion for what felt like the hundredth time in the space of twenty minutes. "How about this?" She was pointing at a design, covered in big flowers, following the same trend she had showed him before.

"Honestly," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I hate the colours. I'd much prefer to paint a neutral colour, like beige or off-white.” He can feel her impatience radiating off of her. “Angela is a growing girl, and in five years, she might despise the wallpaper."

"I thought we had settled on wallpaper." Her accent is thick as if she is challenging him.

“You had settled on wallpaper,” he retorts back. Seeing an angry red flare across her cheeks, he takes a deep breath and silently counts down from five. "My love, fashion changes. It comes in as quickly as it goes, if we were being honest, a plain neutral colour would suit until Angela can decide what she would like plastered upon her walls."

Patrick hated arguing with his wife, especially over something as simple as wall coverings. He watched as her eyebrow lowered, signaling defeat. "It had better be an even coverage,” she stubbornly concedes. “I don’t want to see brush strokes, no spilling it on the floor and you keep those windows open, we don't need to smell paint throughout the entire house," 

He made sure that he kept his face as neutral as possible, yet internally he was ecstatic. As he nodded at his wife’s strict rules, he patted her on the back to escort her towards the paint aisle, before she could change her mind.

* * *

Patrick had set about removing the furniture from Angela's room, cluttering the hallway as he did so. It was only temporary, but the mess had only infuriated his wife more than when they had made the change from wallpaper to paint.

The only thing he had going in his favour is when he precisely followed the ‘no spilling it on the floor’ rule by scrounging up some old newspapers from both their new neighbors and a quick visit to Fred. In fact, he had earned a tiny nod of approval, which of course he had taken.

After that, he had made sure to follow every single one of her directions to the T. It slowed his progress, but he would have rather lost time than to contend with an irritated, pregnant Scot.

The windows in Angela's room were open as wide as the hinges would allow, newspaper had been spread across the floor, and he had even made certain to keep the door to the room shut to prevent the chemical odour of the paint wafting through the house at the slightest breeze.

Just as he was ready to put the paint brush to use, he was surprised to not see Shelagh behind him critiquing his work. In his mind, he had envisioned her leaning against the door jamb with her arms tightly crossed along her chest as he went about preparing himself for the task of lathering walls in a primer paint. 

He found that he was actually relieved that she wouldn't be standing over him, watching his every move.

Yet, as he began to brush the primer onto the walls, he realized that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. The time spent in the store, and the argument they had, had only seemed to bring his deadline closer. Fortunately, the room was small and he should have the priming coat on in no time, however, he knew that he needed to allow that to dry before adding the first coat of paint before repeating the same process for the second coat. That meant he would have to work well into the night and early the next morning if he were to have Angela's room ready for when she was returned after supper the following evening. 

With the primer now drying on the walls, he departed Angela's room, navigating his way through the clutter of her furniture and made his way downstairs to fetch a much needed glass of water and some fresh air in their backyard.

He was greeted with the sight of his gorgeous wife, busying herself with dinner preparations. Pure affection rushed through his veins at that precise moment, especially with the slight silhouette of her growing belly. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, his hands to rest comfortably on her beautiful belly. He had made a move to place a kiss to the top of her head when he felt her push his hands away and her pull out from his embrace. 

Was she still angry at their row? Or that there was paint on the wall instead of wallpaper? He had followed every one of her demands to the letter.

"Shelagh," he gently tried. “Shelagh?” 

She ignored him, instead focusing all of her energy on her present task. "I'm busy," she threw over her shoulder. 

Patrick moved away, reaching for a glass on a shelf on the opposite side to her and filling it from the tap. "The primer is drying, the first coat of paint should hopefully go on later this evening and then the second tomorrow, in time for miss Angela's return home." He felt like he was more of a bother to his wife, however he knew she would rather receive an update than be kept in the dark.

"If you had gone with wallpaper like I  _ thought _ we had initially decided, you would already be finished." Her tone was sharp, cutting through him like a hot knife and wreaking havoc on the hard work he has already put forth.

Realizing that they were going to just drive around in circles, Patrick decided to drop the attempt at conversation right then and there. Instead, he placed his full glass on the countertop and departed the kitchen without a word. He knew he needed reinforcements, especially with a headache that had crept along the tired muscles of his shoulder. He pulled his case from the small closet by the door and rummaged through it for an aspirin. 

There, as though the husband gods were on his side, he had found the old cigarette case he used to carry so many years ago. He was surprised to hear a few a few cigarettes rumbling around when he had shaken the tin. As he looked over his shoulder, he pulled one out and tucked it behind his ear. 

He knew his wife was in too much of a sour mood with him to address him, let alone to talk to him, to see the offending fag. With quiet feet, he was able to safely nip outside to smoke the cigarette discreetly; thankfully avoiding any more admonishment from her.

* * *

Patrick had offered to clean up after dinner, more as a peace offering that in the past she would normally take. Instead, she still seemed to hang onto the bitterness of their earlier row, shrugging him off and shooing him away, telling him that he should return to painting.

As he had made his way back upstairs, he bitterly wondered whether he should have just gone along with Shelagh’s plan for the brightly coloured and vomit-inducing wallpaper. He had shaken his head of that thought the moment he walked into Angela’s room. The anger would have been more on him and he was just too damned tired to be pulling hardened glue out of his hair.

Just as he stirred the paint, he found himself lost himself in thought. He knew she was reaching a certain stage in her pregnancy where she would be nesting, anxiously preparing for their awaited arrival taking precedence over all else. Her hormones would be fluctuating in a manner that defied all logic and he had now witnessed firsthand how she would react if things didn't go according to plan, well at least  _ her _ plan. 

He thought back to Marianne when she had been pregnant with Timothy; she had never been this moody.

_ It must be the bloody Scot in her _ , he reasoned with the roll of his eyes before getting underway.

By the time he had finished the first coat of paint, it was near on midnight and he knew she would expect him to shower the acidic paint odour away before he would ever be allowed to join her in bed. 

Taking a moment to admire his handiwork, he decided that he would indulge himself in another cigarette before retiring for the night. The stress of the fight in combination of the hard work he had put in had built up along his tired shoulders and he knew he needed a generous release.

The guilt at having two cigarettes in one day chewed at him as the water washed away both his sin and the odour of the paint. Quickly brushing his teeth, he exhaled onto his palm to ensure the distinct smell of cigarettes was gone.

Throwing on his pyjamas, he had stolen a moment to trace the generous curves of his beautiful wife. He reveled in her beauty; gone was the bitterness of their earlier scuffle, her features at peace, her lips slightly parted as she slept.

Sliding into bed, he wrapped an arm around her waist, his hand splayed protectively over her stomach. As he drifted into his own slumber, he smiled as he felt the faint movements of their child moving within her.

* * *

The curtains had already been drawn back, causing Patrick to awaken to the bright light of day streaming through the window. Through lidded, groggy eyes, he scrubbed his hands over his face in a feeble attempt to rouse himself fully, laying in bed for a moment more.

He had allowed himself the luxury of lying in when he was bound by a strict time frame, however the lateness of his arrival to bed, paired with the deep ache of tired muscles from yesterday's exertions made him pay no heed to the impending deadline.

He groaned at the ache of his muscles - or was it just his age - as he rolled himself out of bed. Instead of his usual route to the kitchen, he trudged down the hallway to Angela's room to ensure the primer had dried and that he hadn't set himself up to fail, checking for bubbled lumps of air and hairs of the paint brush stuck against the wall.

Patrick inspected the walls thoroughly, ensuring everything was perfect; one bristle stuck to the wall would certainly be visible under a further two coats of paint. He had followed his wife's rules religiously up until this point, and he wasn't about to let something so small and insignificant open the flood gates to her wrath.

Being deeply invested in the task at hand, he failed to notice Shelagh enter the room with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, until the earthy aroma filled his senses. 

"Good morning, dear," she greeted, extending the cup to Patrick as he turned to face her, a warm smile splayed on his features.

He hummed happily, accepting the profferance that his wife held. "Morning," he moved closer to her in order to place a tender kiss upon her temple, silently relishing that she hadn't pulled away from him.

He watched her take in the progress made to their daughters room, happily sipping on his morning brew. His face fell quickly when he realised how expressionless she remained.

"What's is it?" He regretted asking the question as it began to tumble out of his mouth - in his years of marriage he knew it unwise to ask a wife such a thing.

"It's very," she paused, trying to settle on the right word. "Bland,"

He held back the temptation to roll his eyes; she was evidently still hung up on the fact that she was not pleased with the choice of wall coverings. He took a step back from her, needing to put some distance between him and his wife.

"You know this is just the priming coat," he attempted to reason.

She quickly turned on him. "The colour  _ you _ picked out won't be any less bland," she spat.

"I'd rather bland than having to face the obnoxious patterned paper that you kept eyeing up," he placed his half full cup on the windowsill, feeling the tense energy in the room build.

"Obnoxious?" She challenged, stepping into the space he had created between them. 

Patrick held his ground. "Yes, obnoxious." He confirmed. "I think I'd be ill every time I stepped into this room if it was plastered in colours that resemble vomit,"

She was left speechless, a dangerous flash flickered across her eyes. She poked a finger painfully into his pectoral, his body sturdy against the pressure of her finger. She frowned when he didn't budge.

Instinctively he placed his hands on his wife's waist to keep her steady as she swayed with the force of the poke. Instead she batted his hands away with the shake of her hips as her nail left and angry red crescent in his flesh. He watched her finger slip the first few buttons of his pyjama shirt out, the need to take her frustration out growing.

"I'm still irritated with you," she growled against his skin as she kissed just below his collar bone. “Wallpaper was the better choice.” She somehow was able to unbutton the rest of his shirt and slip it off before he had a chance to comprehend her prim words.

He shivered in anticipation under his wife's aggressive touch. It was unlike her to take her anger out on him, but if it meant he could appease the desire that now burned through him, he wasn't going to stop her. But that didn’t mean he was going to take her power away, not when she obviously wanted this as much as he did. 

“I want you.” She bit down on his clavicle and then smoothed over the festering pain with her silky tongue. Then, out of nowhere, a menacing growl had erupted from his small wife. 

When he glanced down, he now understood her frustration. 

Her stomach, which was big enough to be rewarded with the feel of his own child kicking, was no longer flushed against him like she had previously enjoyed. He wanted desperately to take over the control, to bring her to their bed where he knew she would be more comfortable, yet he kept himself rooted. This was her show, he was just along for the ride. 

After a second of careful deliberation, she pulled at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "Lay on the ground," she ordered with the flick of her finger pointed to the ground. 

Never wanting to reignite the wrath of the Scot from yesterday, he obediently followed her instruction.

The newspaper that still covered the floor crinkled under him as he lay himself on the ground, but he ignored it. Instead, his sole focus was now on his wife as her blue bri-nylon nightie – the same one that gifted them their child – slipped off and joined her robe on the ground.

_ Holy hell _ ! He desperately wanted to help her with something, anything, yet he fisted his hands by his sides and laid there just like she had told him. Just the sight of her delicious body still clothed in her underthings caused all of his blood to rush towards his groin, the length of him straining against his pajama bottoms. 

Curiosity briefly fluttered through his mind at the sight of her determined brow, but it all went flying out the window when she knelt down beside him. The sharp tip of her nail, which started at the hollowed flesh at his throat, lazily traced down his middle and stopped when she met the waistband of his pants.

Goosebumps erupted along his electrified skin. It was then he knew he was in trouble when her tongue teasingly licked at her bottom lip in reaction to the way his body pulsed to her simple touch. 

Before he had a chance to break the spell he was under, she had taken it upon herself to straddle him, but low enough to feel the firm muscles of her stomach rather than the burning flesh between her legs. She made an attempt to lean over him, but she huffed in annoyance when her pregnant belly prevented her from resuming her plan of torture.

He made the mistake of offering his help when a knot of frustration pulled at her brows, but this seemed to infuriate her further. 

As she pushed him back onto the floor, she slid herself from her perch on his stomach and down onto his lower thighs, pulling at his waistband to finally –  _ finally! _ – free his length from its entrapment.

He groaned as he came free, the air significantly cooler than where it had previously been tucked. He hoped that, as he watched her stare at his length like a piece of meat, she would take him in her mouth. She had only done it a handful of times,  _ but bloody hell, _ did the image of her perfect mouth taking him in stiffened him further.

Much to his disappointment – or perhaps her pleasure – she instead gripped him firmly with both her small, delicate hands. While it wasn't her mouth, he was instantly caught up in the feel of her taking him in hand, eliciting a hiss in the pleasure he felt as she pumped his length with determined movements.

Surprised as her grip lightened, he felt one hand trace down his thigh to cup his sack, while her other hand continued to lightly stroke him. When he heard his own moans fill the room, he felt the pad of her thumb circle the tip of his head, teasingly smearing his obvious excitement with an all-to familiar smirk.

He couldn't help himself as his hips bucked into her measured hand. He could feel himself beginning to throb with a desire to feel his release, yet it was different, almost as if he was getting what he wanted but not the way he wanted it. He knew that it was selfish, even as he was drowning under hypnotic rule of his wife’s dominance, however he didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment of reaching his completion in her hand.

All of a sudden and without a clear reason, she had abruptly stopped her movements and, instead, choose at that particular moment to unhook her brassiere, exposing delicate, milky breasts for his eyes to feast upon. 

He wanted nothing more than to sit up and flip her over to take her right there, to reach his orgasm the way he wanted to.  _ No. _ He had taken a deep breath to help calm his raging libido, the logical side of his brain, not wanting to irritate his pregnant wife further, reasoned for him to leave her to play this game of torture. Idly, as she gently placed her bra on top of her growing pile, he wondered if this was punishment for yesterday. 

_ If it is _ , the back of his head banged against the newspaper,  _ she is doing a damn fine job at it _ . 

She moved back up his body, settling just below his erection so that it pressed dangerously against the soft flesh of her pubic mound just under the bottom of her belly.

He couldn’t take it anymore, especially when she began to roll her hip in a needy way. "Shelagh, please." He wasn't one to beg, but she had worked him up so greatly that he didn't know how much longer he was going to last.

She smirked down at him, knowing exactly the effect she was having on him. She lifted herself up, positioning their bodies so that she could sink onto him easily; yet she didn't. Instead she took him in hand again and ran his head from her wet core, pushing him through her folds to probe at the nerves at the apex of her thighs. 

_ Bloody hell! _

Her moans were like a siren’s music to his ears as she languidly repeated the motion several times as he lay there, unmoving; scared out of his mind that if he were to reach out and touch her, that she would stop.

With her keyed up, she aligned their bodies, sinking down onto him in a swift motion. Her head fell back as a delicious moan escaped from between her lips.

Patrick groaned at the sight of her taking him in, wanting more than anything to reach out and hold her so he could aide her movements on him. Yet, like all the previous times, he held back, enjoying the fact that his pleasure was coming from her, and her alone.

Instead of her leaning forward so that she could use his shoulders for support as she rocked against him, she balanced herself back with her hands firmly upon his knees, the sight of her glorious breasts bouncing in an uncontrolled pace a feast for his eyes. 

No surprise, his pleasure was quick to build with her angled like this; her body flushed with obvious excitement and propelled by her need to torture him. With his logic thrown out of the window, he reached out to caress her folds, wanting desperately to come at the same time as her. 

Being too quick for him, she stilled her movements, instantly lifting herself and shuffling back on his legs so that there was no way his erection would come into contact with her.

"You tease!" His groan was full of dissatisfaction and pent up frustration.

She smirked at him, oh the nerve she had, her hand coming to settle between her thighs as she began to pleasure herself; her husband stuck under her with nothing else to do but watch. 

He considered stroking himself and as his hand went to grasp his twitching hardness, she batted him away. "No touching," she told him. "This is your punishment for yesterday."

He growled at her, irritated at the pleasure that she had brought upon him, for her to then stop abruptly. However, he had no other choice but to continue to watch her, his eyes focused on the movements of her fingers as she circled the nerves above her slick opening. Out of it all, he enjoyed listening to her breathing hitch between quiet whimpers as she brought herself closer and closer to that glorious euphoria that she had robbed of him.

Before his mind was able to register any movement other than the pace of her greedy fingers, she had fallen back along his legs, her feet planted and legs wide open as her orgasm left her delirious. 

Quick to have taken advantage of her euphoric state, he carefully slid his legs out from under her and nestled himself between open thighs. Her eyes were clenched shut, and a flush had spotted over her chest. He leaned over and lovingly placed light kisses across her belly, moving up and between the valley of her sensitive breasts.

As she came down from her high, her eyes opened, pupils still darkened, watching her husband. 

Pulling back from the kisses he was planting over her, he noticed her gaze on his, so he held it, bringing his face to hers to capture her in a searing kiss.

It was a kiss purely out of love, not desperation. 

He allowed his tongue to flick playfully over her lips until she granted him entry to her mouth, his tongue tangling itself with hers, tasting her. He pulled back momentarily, his lips exploring the corner of her mouth as the feel of his erection twitched dangerously between her legs. He looked at her as if to ask permission, and at her nod, he slid easily into her, finding her tight and perfect.

Despite how dangerously close he was from her earlier teasing, he desperately held onto hope that he would last long enough to grant her the bliss of a second orgasm.

He was stubborn though, just like his wife in that respect, as he had taken his time with long, slow strokes which caused her to moan quietly under him. Careful as his movement became erratic, he leaned over her, cognisant to not place too much pressure on her stomach, and placed open mouthed kisses along her neck. 

With the slight change of position, he felt her legs wrap around his backside to hold him in place as she unexpectedly reached her second orgasm. With her muscles clamped down around him, it gave him the much-needed resistance to his slow movements. 

He groaned in appreciation. "Shelagh," he hissed against the skin of her neck, sucking the soft flesh into his mouth to help dampen his sounds.

She matched him, tangling her fingers in his hair and lightly pulling it back so that she could look lovingly into his eyes. “I love you.” 

His movements picked up, his hips thrusting shorter and faster into her as she kept her internal resistance.

"I love you," was all she could manage before capturing his lips with her own, her apology in the form of love rather than regret.

She cried out as he felt himself reach his own climax, spilling into her.

For several minutes, possibly hours, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms, their disagreements, frustrations, and stubbornness a thing of the past.

At least for now.

“The paint looks nice though, right?” He gave her a goofy grin through lidded eyes as the newspaper loudly crinkled under her, his pride that he lasted longer than he had expected beating within his chest. 

* * *

Patrick had finished the second coat of paint by midday, and as the late afternoon rolled around, he had moved Angela's furnishings back into the room awaiting her arrival.

With the room tidied up and rearranged into a more practical manner, Patrick stood behind his wife, arms wrapped around her middle, hands splayed across her moving belly.

"It's perfect," she whispered. It pained her to admit that he had been right, the bright oranges and yellows would be too much for their little angel.

He placed a kiss to her temple, humming in approval of his wife's words. "They should be home soon," he told her.

"I can't wait for her to see it,"

And that was the first thing they did when their children had been dropped off by Granny Parker. Taking them upstairs to inspect the renovations, Tim expressed his approval at the room and questioned when they would renovate his.

Angela had run into her room, heading straight for her bed. She was knackered from her weekend away, and as she clutched her favourite toy in her arms, her parents sat on the edge of her bed with her, watching as she struggled to fight the sleep that was upon her.

"Love," she managed to tiredly express before the heaviness in her eyes took over.

Patrick pulled Shelagh to her side; happy at their little, but growing family.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, special thanks to h4t08 for going over this for me!  
> You made some much needed edits and brilliant suggestions - you definitely made this better than if I had just left it!  
> Thank you for putting up with my spam emails and constant messages on tumblr 🥰 I really, really appreciate it! ❤
> 
> \---
> 
> To those who read it, be sure to leave us a comment and let us know what you think!  
> (Also go check out h4t08's fic's while you're at it - you won't be disappointed!)


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